


Pastime

by foxysquid



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Crazy Ideas, Devotion, Hobbies, Immortality, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-15 22:51:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1322206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxysquid/pseuds/foxysquid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set long after Children of Earth; Jack needs something to do with his time, so he takes up a new hobby.  Hunting.  Of a sort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pastime

People have always said that the universe is an awfully big place, but it took a lot of time to appreciate just what that meant. Jack didn't have quite that much time, but almost. It also helped to have a means of travel, to go as far as he could, to see what the limits of that big place could be and what they weren't. Jack had that, too.

For a while, what he had was enough: time and space. Wasn't that the most anyone could have? He'd seen too many people die (some of them in his arms) to take for granted what they would have given anything to get a little bit more of. Living forever wasn't paradise, but he wasn't going to bitch about it.

The problem was, when you lived too long, you started to get ideas. Not exactly _crazy_ ideas, he wouldn't say that, but in spite of everything, he was still human, and humans hadn't been made to last forever--their brains weren't fit for the long haul. Their perspective: that was the problem. Humans, even the most open-minded humans, looked at things in a certain way, and once that way of seeing was stretched too far and too thin, it became a strain.

Yes, where humans were concerned, Jack felt he had more endurance than most. Centuries were no problem. Millennia? He could do that. But after that, things in his brain got a bit iffy. Weird. Off-kilter. Not crazy, though. He'd seen crazy, and he wasn't it.

It wasn't crazy to think that maybe, after all this time, he should get a hobby. Not a big deal hobby, not one that required a lot of equipment or took up too much space. More like something to pass the time. What was that called? A pastime. Yeah. That made sense. He needed a pastime, but for someone with as much time as he had, that word took on a _whole_ new meaning.

As for the pastime he picked, it was possible that that was a little crazy. Having already determined that he was someone who knew crazy when he saw it, he had to admit that. The idea didn't come to him all at once. It crept up on him little by little. He found pieces of it everywhere. In a green sky over a ruined city. In the gold glow of a crystal. In falling leaves. In the clatter of plates. The hum of voices in the background in just the right tone to make it sound like they were speaking English.

Going back to Earth? That was a crazy idea. Earth was the last place he should have gone. He'd lived through Earth history, or a large portion of it--the human bits, anyway. He didn't need to see it again. Same old story.

Same old hobby, too. The longer he lived, the more trouble he had lying to himself. That was something he missed. He could still lie to anyone else, as easy as breathing, but he'd grown wise to himself, finally.

He'd been going about it all wrong the first time, that was the problem. Funny that he'd gotten something so simple so completely wrong. Now it seemed very clear to him, or else this was that special kind of crazy, the kind that _didn't feel crazy at all_.

Making it back to Earth wasn't that tough. He had to call in a few favors, that was all. Making it back to Earth with a means of traveling through time was a little trickier, but people owed him a lot of favors. And certain other people needed to learn to look after their possessions better.

Earth was more or less how he remembered it. Same quaint customs, same foolish people. He'd lived long enough to know it was true: the more things changed, the more the things that didn't change stood out as timeless and eternal. 

Like him, maybe. He hadn't changed much. Yeah, he was aging, but it was happening slowly. He was a little heavier, his hair a little grayer, his face a little more lined. Still fixed in time, even when he moved through it. Still causing trouble. Still breaking hearts.

Once he was back on Earth, the tricky part started. The problem was, he didn't know exactly where or when he was looking for. Who, yes. That part was a given. It was the entire reason he was there.

To find one single person who could travel through all of time and space. Needle in a haystack wasn't the right expression. Star in a galaxy, maybe. Atom in a universe. That was why he'd had to go back to Earth. That was the place he was most likely to show up. It made his task easier, if not easy. At least finding one individual in all Earth's time and space was a possible endeavor. He knew there were particular times he could go back to, but he had to be careful. There were rules, sort of. He didn't want to meet himself. And he didn't want to go to Cardiff.

He found the one with the scarf first. The guy was funny, but not the right one. The one with the velvet suit had stuck around on Earth a lot, and Jack ran across him a few times. He had a great car, but it wasn't the same. The one with the blonde, curly hair seemed a bit off, and it was unfair that the Doctor had had hair like that, but he still hadn't gotten to be ginger.

He could always tell, when he found one of them, even though he hadn't seen them before. What was more, they always seemed to know him. Or not know, precisely, but they could sense what he was, on some level. There was never a time the Doctor didn't at least turn towards him and stare very fixedly in his general direction. There was so much Jack could have told them--him--but he restrained himself. More than once, he couldn't resist the urge entirely, so he took the risk and got close. Played the bit part, the waiter who came with the wine, or maybe the guy who shouted, "Oh god, what is that?" The guy who got blown up by aliens. The Doctor was gone by the time he pulled himself together again. Didn't see that one of the dead came back to life.

He couldn't do any more than that. More than that, and he might have left an impression. 

Whatever the rules were--and who enforced them now?--Jack knew he was breaking at least one of them, doing what he was doing. He couldn't help himself. Maybe he'd lived too long. Maybe he was crazy. By that point, he didn't care. He had his hobby, his pastime. He was looking for his Doctor.

His time machine, such as it was--half borrowed and half stolen--didn't quite work right, and more often than not, he found himself appearing in an entirely unexpected moment. Fortunately, he could teleport out of the worst trouble he found himself in, though the teleporting didn't always work out as planned either. Didn't matter--it kept things interesting. What was the worst that could happen? Death? No, not that.

Sometimes he lingered in one place--found a reason to stay, fell in love a little. He could still do that. He didn't stay long. The seasons changed, and he found reasons to leave. He didn't tell anyone the truth. When he felt he needed someone to talk to, he, as a timeless man, used a timeless method. He wrote letters, with a pen and paper, the old fashioned way. He didn't know who he was writing to, exactly. Maybe they were love letters. He ripped up some of them and scattered the pieces. Some, he burned. Others he threw recklessly into the sea. A few--a very few--he kept with him, though he didn't intend to give them to anyone. They were just good letters, and he wanted to hang onto them.

He was getting eccentric in his old age.

The pastime served its purpose. So much time passed that Jack lost track. It wasn't the same as wandering without purpose. His life had meaning now. Hey, wasn't that something? He'd almost forgotten what it felt like. It felt good. He realized he'd grown tired of running away, though it had taken running towards something for the realization to come to him. Funny how that worked.

It took a while, but at the same time, it was over too soon. 

Suddenly, there he was. It was winter, by the river. The air was icy and the sky was gray. Fitting, wasn't it? He didn't quite know why, but it felt right. A mean, fine drizzle fell. It was a little too warm for snow. Jack quickened his pace to catch up, half-afraid something would happen at the last minute: the man would disappear, or an unexpected calamity would occur in the middle of this chill but quiet day, separating them once again.

The Doctor must have heard his footsteps, for he turned, and Jack saw his face again. His eyes. That glorious nose. The short hair and leather jacket, unadorned and undeniably his Doctor. The man raised his eyebrows and let a sardonic twist move his lips. "Can I help you?" he asked.

"Not really," said Jack, smiling back and falling into step beside him one more time. "Just thought you looked like you could use a friend."

The Doctor considered this seriously, as if Jack was someone he knew who had brought up a good point. "You could be right." He continued to walk beside the river, but now he matched his pace to Jack's, a tacit acceptance of his companionship.

"I wonder if you're going to tell me who you are," the Doctor said eventually. It wasn't quite a question.

"Might not be a good idea," said Jack. He hoped he was changed just enough by now that the Doctor wouldn't recognize him when he met him again. Though maybe he would, maybe he had--how could Jack ever be sure?

"Ah. I know how that goes."

Jack realized they were no longer moving forward. He stood close to the Doctor. He could have touched him--maybe he could have kissed him--but who could say what would have happened if he had? The world might have ended. What a kiss that would have been, huh? Maybe it would have been worth it. But the kiss would come later. The world would end later. Or earlier, since for Jack it had already happened.

The Doctor must have sensed that whoever Jack was, he was friendly, because he smiled. The familiar, sudden smile that lit his sad eyes. "I haven't felt this way in a while."

"What way?"

"Like someone knows me. It's a good feeling, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it is. But don't worry, you'll feel it again." Since he'd come so far, he might as well break another rule or two. Why not?

Jack changed his mind. Screw the world. He leaned in and kissed the man, lightly, on the corner of his mouth. Just a peck, that was all he was going for. He wasn't the one who made it something more, closing his eyes as the Doctor leaned in and kissed him back.

Not many people realized it, because not many people had the experience that would allow them to realize it, but every species' kiss had a different taste. Jack was probably one of the few humans who knew what a Time Lord kiss tasted like. It was impossible to describe. But it tasted very, very good.

Jack felt both sadder and happier when he finally pulled away. The temptation he felt then was great--to stay and stay, to change history, to make it so this never had to end. But the Doctor wouldn't want that. "You're not alone," said Jack, and he knew as he said it that that one sentence meant a lot of things.

He knew he had to go, or he'd stay. "See you around," he said. He winked, and he turned, and he walked away.


End file.
